


Swords and Knives

by Guardian_Thorn



Category: Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 12:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17683514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Thorn/pseuds/Guardian_Thorn
Summary: The Conclave would set things into motion long after the original blast. Little did the captain know that the sole survivor would change the course of history, and his world.





	Swords and Knives

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I hope you guys enjoy this new fic, I would say I will update regularly... but... yeah... bear with me please!

A twig snapped under the foot of the hooded figure running through the forest, narrowly avoiding the rocks littering the floor and the tree trunks standing tall- reaching towards the sky in a silent stretch. The sun was high when the figure finally stopped, leaning against a thick trunk and pulling out the canteen that was secured into the cloak. After checking there wasn’t any prying eyes around to witness what was about to happen, a small sigh leaves the lips concealed by the hood. Small fingers grip the side of the hood, pushing it backwards and freeing the ocean of white hair held within. The long strands of white flow freely, hanging along the small frame of the figure. If there were prying eyes, which there weren’t, they would have seen pointed ears, the tell-tale sign of an elf. Another sign being the slightly larger eyes, a steely blue in the bland colours of the forest. The eyes were continuously flickering around in different directions, years of being taught how to scan an area for threats, looking for anything that might not take kindly to an elf in the woods. This elf in particular had been raised with a clan of Dalish elves, going by the name Lavellan, travelling the Free Marches in their aravels. He was the First to their Keeper, a powerful mage that acted as her second-in-command. 

The cloaked man slides down the trunk of the tree, taking a deep gulp from the canteen and if the intel was good then there should be a lake a few miles north, a little before the forest thinned out to accommodate the rockier terrain that would lead to the The Temple of Sacred Ashes, so the elf could fill up there. The small fingers run through the silver locks of hair, huffing gently when encountering a knot and trying to eliminate it. The now knot-free hair framed the smooth skin of the elf’s face, smooth skin that was tanned under the Thedas sun. The usually plump lips were pulled into a straight line as the elf looked down towards the hand currently closed around a small piece of parchment. He had read the note several times after being roused by the Keeper this morning. Taking a deep breath, he stands up slowly whilst tucking the canteen back into the cloak and the letter into the belt of the armour. The hood was raised, throwing the beautiful elven face back into the shadows before setting off again running through the forest- the only thing going through his mind was the words on the note and the hushed whispers of the Keeper in the early hours of the morning.

‘M, travel safe and fast. Send a Raven when it is over with. -D.” The wind whips through the cloak, causing it to billow out behind the small frame. The shadowy figure travelled swiftly through the woodland, the nomadic lifestyle aiding with the ability to navigate through the expanse of land. Breathing calmly, taking confident strides, the elf had been trained to do this from a young age, having to make a suitable First for the clan. Minutes turned to hours as he kept pace, never breaking stride until the trees thinned out to reveal a lake in the middle of a spacious clearing. The Dalish crouched down upon arriving at the bank of the lake, small fingers entwined together to form a makeshift cup the elf drank from after collecting water from the lake. A soft sigh can be heard when he finishes drinking, taking the flask from the cloak and dunking it under the surface of the water, causing small ripples to run along the surface of the once serene lake. The elf’s eyes dart to the left, following the sound of rustling among the underbrush, the canteen disappears into the folds of the cloak as it gets pulled tighter around the elf. A small nug hops out of the bush, shaking its head quickly to dislodge the leaves stuck within its fur. An almost feline smile graces the mage’s plump lips as a small shard of ice is sent towards the nug, hitting it in the eye and embedding itself in the brain.

After a satisfying meal of nug meat cooked on a hastily made fire, after many failed attempts of summoning flames, the mage kicks the remaining pile of ash into the wind, watching as the breeze carried it away. He stretches its arms and legs, sending a silent prayer to Andruil as a thank you for the good hunt before walking towards the edge of the lake, taking deep breaths. A foot is seen, peeking out from underneath the cloak, making its way towards the surface of the still water. Small whorls of frost begin to form on the water, where the reflection of the foot should have been, solidifying into ice as the sole makes contact. The corner of the elf’s mouth is pulled up in a smirk as the second foot steps onto the lake, the water hardening into ice just as the skin makes contact. After a couple of minutes of deep breathes and contemplation, the elf begins running across the surface of the lake, the water freezing into ice seconds before the ice mage stepped onto it and then thawing back to water when it had moved on. Going over the lake saved more time than walking around, meaning that he reached the other side rather quickly. After a quick glance over his shoulder, to make sure there wasn’t any ice left, the hooded male sets off through the woodland again, grinning as peaks of the towers belonging to The Temple of Sacred Ashes comes into sight. 

The darkness of the night begins to leak into the sky, the change in colour heralding the approaching night. The elf furrows his brows, pulling the cloak tight around its frame as he climbs a nearby tree, not wanting to tangle with any nightly visitors. Small fingers grasp the note from the Keeper, holding it tightly as the sun leaves the world for the moon to watch over, the voice of the Keeper, briefing the mage of his mission, ran through his mind as he slowly begin to fall asleep. Unbeknownst to the mage, the event he had been sent to witness would not only change the course of elven history but the history of all of Thedas, his eyes grow heavy as he takes one last look towards the moon before drifting off into sleep.

The hooded figure awakes with a start, cursing himself as he hurries down the tree for sleeping more than his allowed two hours. He takes deep breaths as his body lurches through the last remaining acre of woods. He grunts as he throws himself towards the rocky face of the mountain holding The Temple of Sacred Ashes, his fingers dig into the craggily surface as he hoists himself up, hands and feet moving in the perfect synchrony only accessible through years of training. The stone cuts through skin, the pain secondary to the figure as he nears the destination of his mission. It beckons him in, the taste of victory running on his tongue as he finally reaches the top. He pants heavily as he looks down towards his hands, internally cringing as the sharp pain shoots through his veins, hoping to find a healing potion soon to deal with the growing ache in his muscles accompanying the small cuts. 

After finally finding a window suitable to climb through, the First sighs and pulls his cloak tightly, squatting down in the corner to gather his bearings and energy. He blinks slowly, taking in the entrance and exit points down the corridor he faced, four large windows, one large set of doors on the left and two secret passageways, probably for eleven slaves he thought to himself. He cloaked elf is ripped from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps stepping out of the passageway at the bottom of the corridor, the furthest away from the elf. He blinks several times, watching the meandering figure make its’ way slowly down the corridor, weighing up his options. Option one, he reveals himself to the clearly drunken figure, hoping to incapacitate it before things got out of hand. Option two, stay hidden within the shadows hoping he remained unnoticed. Option three, wait until the ambling body was close enough to overpower it before it realised what had happened. With a crooked smile, the elf makes his decision.


End file.
